Listening

Reflecting on all of my previous posts, I began wondering, "Why do I have a blog?" I'm not sure if this is a common reason, but I think my major motive is to be heard. Even if I have an unresponsive audience of 1 or 2 random people who just happened to click on my page, I somehow have a secret longing fulfilled. I would say that in my day-to-day life, I don't get listened to very often. It's not that people don't talk to me, or that I don't have friends. I actually have many friends. But no one seems to understand the fine art of listening. Many claim to hear what I say, but even if the sounds are vibrating through their eardrums, they aren't processing them with their hearts. They are quick to cut in with their own stories or advice, rather than just sitting, and letting me spill my heart. I'm afraid I've become rather calloused when people tell me that they want to know me better, or that they're "now ready to listen." I'm used to being ignored. So instead, I write, in the way most comfortable to me, when I can no longer contain the frustration, anger, sadness, pain, or on the rare occasion, joy within me. Of course, I am always willing to share with someone who seems genuine in their interest to hear my thoughts, and I realize that I need to reciprocate, but those lovely circumstance are few and far in between. I know that I have been blessed with a loving mom, who has always listened to me, always been willing to stop doing something important when I needed to talk, never demanded that I listen to her in the same way. Realizing this, I have begun to reciprocate recently, trying to fulfill her need for a listening ear as well. I think the stage where we really transform from being a mere needy infant into a mature adult is when we make the choice to listen, rather than be heard. It's not just a physical change, but also spiritual. When we choose to listen rather than be heard, we become more and more like God, who always listens to our sorrows and joys, our complaints, and rare praise. Maybe this choice of listening to the needs of those around us is merely the beginning of something bigger, developing our ears for the voice of God. Maybe He is simply waiting for us to make the choice to listen--for Him.

Steel

Hard face--
a mask?
Cold heart--
brittle
Shattered in two.
warm
tender
vulnerable.
Looking for love--
afraid to show.
Past hurt
no one cares.
The crust builds up again.
Leaving the impression
of steel.

Heartbreak:

who is there,
that will listen to
and ponder
the thoughts
of my heart?

who exists,
that can dissect
each and every one,
from beginning
to end?

who can understand
the aches,
the longing,
the things my mouth
cannot express?

Heartbreak:
for something
deeper than
a relationship

who can love,
truly love me--
not just in name,
but whose every act
expresses a choice?

Heartbreak:
for something
only Heaven
can provide

who can show me,
that it's okay
to free yourself,
to let go of guilt,
and dance
the song of life?

Heartbreak:
for someone
who breaks all
life's petty rules

who can comfort,
hold me when
life doesn't understand,
who can just sit,
and listen to my tears?

Heartbreak:
for the one
only God
can provide.

Scribbles

There is not a word I could say
not a speech I could write
not a song I could sing
that could express
what you mean to me.
We're family--together--one
in more than the true sense of the word.
Connected by the ethereal--
no one can understand this bond.
You understand me--I, you
and so I find myself,
left scribbling more letters
to distract myself
from the emptiness of the room.
So many thoughts
so much anguish
so much joy overflowing
yet I can not share.
You left--with a piece of me,
that no one else will ever hold.
I treasure your gift--
I embrace it--
present it fully to the light,
letting it illuminate all around,
Always praying,
for your return.

Crystals

Like a mighty oak,
growing tall, sure and strong
hands clasped, lifted high
An axe thrust
meant for the core
but deflected.
Sap pouring out,
oozing through the seams,
soaking through the bark.
Sunshine--
freezing the sap in its tracks.
Crystals of infinite wonder,
honeyed gold,
frozen in time.
The oak still growing.
Ever shooting upward.
Ever reaching up.
Ever stretching.
For God.

Fictionary

What would happen,
if all our dreams came true?
What would happen,
if we got everything we really wanted?
Would life become perfect?
Is it possible?
Why doesn't God
give us everything we desire?
Would we take him for granted?
Would we eventually find out
we never actually wanted it?
Would we leave God,
running away from His relentless love?
Always striving for something
we can't attain from a human?
Fiction clouds my mind,
making me believe in
dreams that aren't fulfilled.
It begs me to follow the rainbow,
knowing I will always find an empty pot,
or worse--the despair of nothing.
When the haze lifts,
I firmly plant my feet.
I choose to believe.
To believe in a story
that God himself writes.
He's no soap-opera author.
He doesn't twist the plot,
manipulating my life with indifference.
When I'm willing to hand him the pen,
He writes--
corrects my pitiful scribbles,
and completes the story of my heart.

Note to You

Yesterday seems forever
I thought our past would be never--
we got lost in the world of however.

Now you are no more
moved on, passed my door
leaving me empty to the core.

A different kind of love
not from earth, but from above,
what friendships are made of.

So many thoughtful words,
now frozen through discourse,
make talking seem a curse.

Regretful that it had to change,
wishing for our yesterdays,
when you were still my friend.